Second Generation
by GordonLachance17
Summary: The year is 1980. Four families all have a child on the same day of the same year in different towns, cities, countries. They have nothing to do with each other, but at the same time they have everything to do with each other. The force of a lost friendship brings them back together on one fateful day.
1. Introduction

It is June 17, 1980 in Castle Rock, Oregon. Keith Tessio is born 1:09 PM, a healthy baby. His mother Cathy is holding him as he screams at the light of the new world around him. His father Vernon Tessio is looking down on him and grinning, proud of his child, such a brave child.

Half way around the world, in Rennes, France, James Duchamp is born one minute later. His mother Martha looks down on him with glee in her eyes, looking at her second son in her arms. Her husband Teddy stands beside her, laughing down at the little boy with blue eyes.

Just a few hundred miles east of the hospital where James had just been born, lay Tracy in a hospital bed in Germany, enduring the hard labor of giving birth. Her son will be named Kevin and her husband rushes to get to her side, having just driven thirty miles to get to her, in panic mode.

Back in the U.S, Chris Chambers lifts his baby out of his wife's arms and cradles him.

"Gordie. We're naming him Gordie."

He is certain of the name.

His wife doesn't question it, for she knows.

"Middle name?"

"Harrison."

These four families had nothing to do with each other, but had everything to do with each other at the same time. If it hadn't been for one fateful day, they would never have met.


	2. Birthdays and Moving News

_June 16th, 1992 _

James Duchamp was sitting in his room. It was a Tuesday afternoon, the first full day of summer.

The door creaked behind him and his mom entered, carrying a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

"Hey honey," she said.

"Hey mom," he felt like he was often treated like a baby, which annoyed him, especially considering the fact he was turning 12 the next day.

"Hun' I need to tell you something."

James mentally prepared himself for some sort of a smack down.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"We should have told you this a long time ago…"

He now began to wonder. What would that mean?

"We're moving to the States."

James didn't reply, expecting that it was just a joke.

"The States? As in the U.S.A?"

His mother nodded, "Yes."

James had always lived in France. He was born there, thought of himself as 100% French, but he knew he wasn't.

His father, Theodore, or more widely known as Teddy, had been born and raised in a small town called Castle Rock, in Oregon, U.S.A. But he too had some French blood in him. James' mother Martha was also born in America, but she was 50% French, raised by a French mother.

"Maman? Are you serious?"

She nodded again, helplessly.

"Honey, I'm sorry. Your father found work back in Oregon. We'll be living near his hometown."

James sighed, "When are we leaving?"

"In two days."

_June 17th, 1992_

"Happy birthday Kevin!" Tracy shouts to her son, lifting a cake full of candles in front of his face.

Gordie Lachance, Kevin's father is standing on his right, handing him a present.

"It's just what you wanted," he says to him.

Kevin's eyes light up as he unwraps the delicate paper and admires the empty canvas and unused paint in front of him.

"There's an easel too. It was just too heavy to wrap," his mother smiles.

He jumps up to thank his mother and father.

It is a Wednesday afternoon in the small village of Reusten, Germany. Kevin has just turned 12 years old, about to start a new life in a new country.

"Alright, the plane leaves in 4 hours. We better get going."

_Phoenix, Arizona June 17th, 1992_

"Gordie, pack you're stuff. We have to leave in about half an hour."

"Half an hour?! That's not enough time. I have to pack at least 20 journals."

"What's so difficult about that?"

"The fact that I have to find a way to stuff 20 journals into one small carry on suitcase."

Chris Chambers was pacing the hallway, looking for things in every corner, making sure he wasn't going to forget anything.

His wife Carla is already at the front door, keys and bags in hand, ready to leave.

"Chris, honey, we packed everything. Don't worry."

"Come on Gord-o. We don't want to be late." Chris shouts through the house.

Gordie Chambers appears in the hallway, dragging a suitcase along the floor, "Quick question. Why are we actually moving back to the town you've always wanted to get out of since you were my age?"

He didn't get a reply. Chris and Carla were rushing out of the door already.

"Goodbye Phoenix," Gordie whispered to himself as he headed after his parents.


	3. The NotSoNew Town of Castle Rock

**Hello everyone. First of all, thank you to GordiesGirl7 for reviewing. It's because of you that I am updating right now. And to answer your question, yes, it is a possibility that I will add a girl into the story. **

**Also, if anyone has any suggestions for me on how to continue the story, feel free to tell me. Thanks.**

James' P.O.V

We had just arrived in Castle Rock, a town with a familiar name to me because of my father. It was all how he had described it as too. My father, Teddy Duchamp was born here in 1947, growing up along with his 3 best friends he told me stories about. Vern he talked about the most, a kid that seemed to fear everything. He had been made fun of and babied a lot. There was also Gordie, the writer, the genius, the shy, skinny, dark-haired kid. His older brother had died when he was twelve and it completely changed him.

Lastly, there was Chris, who seemed to tie the whole friendship together. I heard that he was the leader, the peacekeeper, the tough guy, the best friend, the one with the caring heart. I almost didn't want to believe it at first because he had so many different traits packed into him.

"Dad, this place is stuck in the 60's," my older brother Peter said when we entered the small town.

It was true. The houses were old and the streets weren't much better. We passed old trucks, old street signs, old bars, old everything. I felt like I had just been transported back in time.

The moving van was behind our rental car and I suddenly felt exposed and uncomfortable coming through the town.

"Population 800," Peter read aloud as we passed the sign.

My dad was driving the car and looked at my brother as he said that, "When I lived here there were about 300 more people. They must all be leaving."

"Yeah, I can see why," I mumbled.

I could barely imagine even living there if it had been the 50's and 60's. But now everything was out of date. I already didn't like it.

Kevin's P.O.V

I was half asleep when we came into town. My head bobbed up and down as the car drove over the gravel road.

"We're here," my mother said enthusiastically.

I lifted my head to look around. Hills engulfed the town on every side, making it look like a bowl filled with houses.

It was, to be honest, quite a beautiful little town. It was quiet, not surrounded by the city and loud cars and bright lights.

The only noise I could hear were animal noises coming from the bushes and the trees.

The air was different, not like it had been in Berlin. The air was more open and filled with natural scents.

As we drove slowly into the town, I looked all around me. There was no doubt that it was old and hadn't been updated much since the 60's. But I didn't mind it at all.

Gordie's P.O.V

Dad hadn't even told me what house we would be moving into. I figured it wouldn't be the house he had grown up in as a kid, because I knew he had terrible memories at that place. But it wasn't only that. My dad had told me many times that the house could barely even be called a house. It was more like a shack.

The town looked exactly like he had described it to me. In his stories he always told me details about how it looked and the atmosphere of everything. I also was told a lot about his friends, especially Gordie. I knew a lot about Gordie. He was the kid I was named after, so I was particularly interested in learning about him.

"Hey, do you think the tree house is still there?" I asked enthusiastically.

"Could be," my dad answered. But I could tell he highly doubted it.

The town was quiet. It was some time in the evening, at a point between darkness and daylight.

Each house stood out amongst the others. Many of them were big and old. I could see the paint peeling off each one.

It was really silent in the town and it felt deserted.

Every house and block we passed, the farther away from Castle Rock I felt. From hearing my father's stories, I had always pictured the town as being absolutely tiny, with only a few shops in the downtown area. But now that I was actually living it, it seemed much bigger. House after house on multiple streets lined up through the area. The yards were big as well, with plenty of space for the small children to play.

"Dad, are we almost there?" I asked him, unsure of where he was going.

"Yeah Gord-o. Just a few more blocks."

By now I felt sure that we were almost on the border of town. The houses were started to become fewer and fewer and I now realized we were ascending slightly up hill. The trees and bushes became denser.

Everything seemed to have disappeared.

And suddenly we were at the top of a hill, overlooking all of Castle Rock. I could see every inch of it, and now I also noticed the odd bowl shape it made.

I stared at the land in awe and amazement for a few moments until I remembered something from one of my dad's stories.

"…_The douche bags from up on the View."_

The View. It rang through my mind over and over, bouncing back and forth.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we moving onto the View?"


	4. New Home

**Hey everyone. It's the last day of summer vacation! Well, actually I've been in school for about 3 weeks already. But of course the rest of the world gets a longer break. **

Gordie's P.O.V

We really were up on the View. I recognized some details from my dad's stories.

"Why would we move up here?" I asked, confused.

But I didn't really need an answer. I knew why. My dad had become what everyone used to think he would never achieve.

He worked hard in life and proved the town wrong.

He had become a lawyer, a very famous one too. I remember him coming home everyday, happy with how his life had took a turn for the better.

Moving to Castle Rock was a shock to me for this reason. Why would my dad want to move back to the town in which people had hated him and he had felt like he was in prison?

I asked it too myself everyday but never had the courage to ask him.

His job as a lawyer is what got us to move up onto the View. He earned a good amount of money and maybe we could be considered "rich." It depended on your idea of rich.

I didn't get an answer from either of my parents anyway. They were too busy navigating through the streets and the mansions, trying to find the right place.

I sat in the back seat, looking around. For all I knew we could have been in a completely different town, city, or state. This part of Castle Rock reminded me of Los Angeles.

My dad finally came to a slow at one of the houses.

I didn't want to believe that I would actually be living here.

The mansion looked to be bigger than the rest. It had at least 40 windows all around, double doors in the front, 3 stories, and a 4 car garage at the side.

I didn't believe it.

Kevin's P.O.V

We stopped in front of a small yet cute looking house on Lincoln Street. It looked like it could barely fit two bedrooms, let alone a kitchen.

It was painted a baby blue with rows of colorful flowers planted out front. Wind chimes hung from the porch, chiming softly in the wind.

There was a tree in the yard, looming over the house with leaves blowing, making a rustling noise.  
My dad parked in the driveway beside it and got out of the car, beholding our new home.

"What do you think Kev?" He asked me, still looking at the house.

I nodded, "It's cute." And I made my way to the front door with a small suitcase packed with clothes. The moving truck had just parked behind us.

I looked around at the neighborhood. Many of the houses on the street were abandoned and vacant. It was a time like this where I got proof that people were leaving town. My family and I were unusual for actually moving in instead of out.

Jame's P.O.V

My dad had just started unloading the truck. I barely had a chance to see the new house, when I already sprang back out the front door and went to explore the town. It was really quiet, reminding me of a ghost town.

I passed the main downtown area. Except for a few shops, there wasn't much to see. Most of the buildings were boarded up or standing empty.

"How pathetic," I mumbled to myself.

I lost interest until I came up to a sign. I recognized it immediately. My father had told me many stories about it as a kid.

It was a restaurant. The door to the entry, in faded blue letters, said _Blue Point Diner._

Suddenly it was as if I had been transported into one of the stories. I could see people rushing in and out of the door, talking and laughing. I could see through the windows and watch the people sitting at the booths, eating hamburgers and fries with milkshakes.

Now, all I could see was an empty restaurant. No people, no food, no laughter.

What an empty, sad town.


	5. The Discovery

James' P.O.V

By the time I had maneuvered through the lonely, small town I was no longer in a mood to be out. I just wanted to be home in the house, not doing anything. But right as I was heading in the direction of the street I had come from, I noticed something. I was at the very edge of town. There were no longer houses around or any small businesses. It was all deserted. I noticed a small hill. It was slowly ascending up towards something, and I knew there had to be something at the end of it, because there was a path.

Suddenly I was no longer bored. I was excited and up for adventure.

I slowly climbed up the hill, anticipating whatever lay ahead of me. The path curved slightly to my left as I continued upwards.

For a few moments I began to lose hope in coming to anything interesting. It was just an old path, nothing special.

But as the thought came to my mind, I saw a vast space in front of me, a lot. But that wasn't the interesting part. In the abandoned lot stood a tree house. It was definitely old and not well put together. There were sheets of woods hanging off of it, a cracked, foggy old window, and random slabs of metal on it as well. But the most important part I noticed about it was that there was a ladder still leaning neatly against it.

I became excited again and was eager to go inside. But at the same time I was slightly afraid. The tree house looked untrustworthy and a little sketchy. I wasn't positive I wanted to enter it.

I kept running it through my mind, "Don't turn back."

If there was anything interesting in this town, it was the tree house standing right in front of me, up for grabs. I wouldn't find anything like this again.

So I inched forward slowly, hoping to find some courage buried deep inside of me.

"It's just I tree house. It's just a tree house." I whispered to myself over and over.

I was moving at snail speed, until a heard a voice behind me, "What the hell?"

I snapped into a state of shock as I spun around to find the voice's origin.

There was a kid my age standing about 10 feet behind me. He looked friendly enough, but slightly confused about what he had just witnessed.

There was an awkward pause.

The kid, who upon further observation, had short, almost black hair. He was wearing green converse, normal blue jeans and a red shirt. To me he seemed slightly big-boned, but not chubby exactly.

The boy continued staring at me blankly.

I was the first to speak, "I'm James."

He nodded at me, "Hey James. I'm Keith. I see you've discovered the tree house."

I looked back at the strange structure again, "Uh, yeah, I guess I have."

Keith continued talking, "It's got a story behind it. I come here a lot just by myself. I have been coming here for a few years now, ever since my dad told me the story."

"What story?" I asked, curious now.

I felt like I was in a mystery movie, solving some sort of crime.

"Well, I can't just tell you straight up. Not until you prove yourself." Keith's voice was now beginning to sound ridiculous.

"Prove myself? How?"

"You have to be worthy of joining the tree house club."

Now I laughed. The tree house club? How utterly ridiculous.

I didn't want to belong to any club.

I decided I was going to find an excuse to leave, when suddenly Keith invited into the tree house.

I had to admit, I was curious and wanted to go in. Yet I was hesitant.

But I went in anyway.

The inside seemed bigger than the outside. It was nicer, cozier looking. It was complete with a few chairs and a table, along with shelves filled with junk.

"What do you do up here?" I asked.

"Nothing much. I just hang out. And think about the story."

I was getting frustrated, "What story?"

But this time, instead of ignoring it, Keith actually spoke on, "The year was 1959. It was a hot summer day in late August. 3 boys were sitting exactly where we are right now. One was reading a magazine, and the other two were playing gin rummy.

A fourth boy came running from the outside and knocked on the tree house.

He was let up and told his three friends what he heard. This boy was my father. His name was Vern Tessio and he had overheard his brother speaking to a friend about seeing a dead body."

Keith was about to continue, but I had already stopped listening.

"Vern Tessio?" I asked.

"Yes," he nodded.

My eyes widened and I stared blankly at Keith.

"You are the son of Vern?"

He nodded again.

"No way. My father knows your father. They were best friends."

Keith stopped to make sure it wasn't a joke, "Wow. Teddy's son?" He guessed.

I laughed, "Yeah that's me. I guess I look a lot like him."

"Well from the descriptions, yeah."

It was as if Keith and I had an instant connection after that day. After all, our fathers had been best friends, and the both of us felt it was just natural that we would become best friends as well.

Only, we didn't expect the other members of the gang to complete the puzzle.


	6. A Recognized Face

Kevin's P.O.V

I decided to leave the house and go "exploring." After all, none of the adventure would be found indoors in a town like this. I headed out of the house, a sketch pad in hand, hoping to possibly see something interesting to draw.

I wasn't sure what I thought about the whole move. It was mostly very random, something I never would have expected, considering it was such a small town in the U.S and we had moved all the way from Germany. But in a way I didn't actually mind. It was sort of nice to get away from the loud crowds and packed space of Berlin. It opened my mind and gave room for creativity.

I continued on a stroll to nowhere. The town was silent and I saw not a person, or animal, in sight. I walked past the downtown area, deserted and old, not one car parked along the road. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. It was strangely sad, the atmosphere I was in. I felt almost transported back into the early 60s.

I walked past old shops that were boarded up and I could barely make out a sign that read "Laundromat".

Castle Rock was a ghost town with no businesses open what-so-ever. I kept my eye out for some sign of life, but didn't find it until I came to the very end of the road running through downtown.

There was a small diner at the corner of two streets. In faded blue letters, the door read "Blue Point Diner."

I peaked inside. The counters were old and the booths even older. Wallpaper was peeling off of the walls and only three human beings were inside, as far as I could tell.

One was an elderly woman eating a cheeseburger. Another was a waitress working behind the bar, and the last was a blonde haired middle aged man sitting alone in a booth on the far side of the restaurant.

I immediately remembered one of my fathers' stories. He had many times told me about a gang called "The Cobras". They were apparently the worst people Castle Rock had ever known, a bunch of beer drinkin' guys who had nothing better to do than to terrorize twelve year olds.

The leader had been a guy with the name of Ace Merrill. My father had described him as cheese blonde haired. But mostly this was all I heard. Sometimes my dad couldn't piece his words together when describing Ace. Occasionally he would remind me that Merrill had a habit of chewing on a toothpick and taking a swig of beer at the same time.

Now, looking at the slightly obese man sitting in the booth of the diner, I knew immediately just from the stories, that it was him.

The man named Ace Merrill was drinking a beer, looking depressed. He wore a very grimy old white shirt, stained with sweat and grease. The sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, revealing flab underneath.

As I continued to look, I noticed something more detailed. There looked to be some sort of marking on his arm. Of course, it was difficult to decipher in the dark gloom of the empty diner, but finally I made out the word, "Cobras."


	7. Meeting Gordie

**I haven't posted in such a long time. I blame school and homework for this insanity. Anyway, please read and review and suggestions would be appreciated if you have any **

Kevin's P.O.V

Yes, it was definitely Ace Merrill, there was no question. He sat by himself in the diner, secluded in the back, looking utterly miserable. I wanted to laugh, knowing he deserved this new life that he now had. He was overweight and depressed, probably had no friends or family anymore.

I continued to stand outside of the Blue Point Diner, too in thought to budge. The silence of the town was almost hypnotizing, that I complete forgot what my original goal had been. Ace didn't look up as I stared continuously through the open entrance of the diner. The old woman seemed to be too focused on her cheeseburger and the waitress in the back looked bored out of her mind.

For a brief moment, I considered going in, but I dismissed the thought quickly and decided to walk on. I walked past more shut down businesses, rent signs, for sale signs, brick buildings standing lonely and forgotten. I tried to imagine life here years before, the life that my father had had. I tried to picture more livelihood, trying to put it together in my mind. But even my dad had told me his stories, explaining that the town was always quiet, not many people living there.

I didn't understand why we had moved.

"Hey!"

I heard a sudden voice behind me. I nearly jumped up two feet out of shock, for everything had been silent just two moments ago.

I turned around slowly. The voice had come from a boy my age. He was short and had sandy blonde hair. I noticed he wore old sneakers and a red shirt with light blue jeans. To complete the look, he had two dog tags hanging around his neck.

"Hi," I said, trying to undo the look of pure shock from my face.

"I'm Gordie," he said to me. I tried to ignore the horrible awkwardness I was feeling at the moment.

But then I heard his name sink in.

"Gordie?" I asked, to make sure I had heard right.

He nodded, "Yep, that's me."

I stared at him wide-eyed and he looked back at me like I was crazy.

"Something wrong?"

I stuttered quickly, "Um well, it's just that-." I didn't want to sound insane to some kid I didn't even know, "I know a Gordie."

I realized how stupid it sounded after I said it.

"You do? A Gordie that lived here?"

"Yeah, he's my dad."

Gordie stared at me blankly, "Your dad? Is your dad Gordie LaChance?"

I nodded quickly, not quite believing what I was hearing.

"No way," he said, a look of amazement spreading over his face, "I was named after a Gordie LaChance."

I tried piecing together all the things I was hearing. Who would name their child after my father? It barely required any thought. Of course, it could only be Christopher Chambers, my dads childhood best friend.


End file.
